


Beginner Frolicking

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5225900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elves are supposed to frolic, right? Zevran gives a beginners course. </p>
<p>Or, the moment Zevran fell in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginner Frolicking

**Author's Note:**

> There is not enough Zevran/Warden in this fandom and I am determined to fix that though force of will.

Thinking back on it, Zevran could remember the exact moment when he fell in love.

He didn’t realize it at the time. He didn’t realize until weeks later, and even then, it was a sort of realizing that teetered on the precipice of denial. He could remember the moment perfectly, the trees of the forest swaying above them, the grass under his boots, the smell of elfroot in the air. 

It was a far cry from Antiva. All of Ferleden was. There was no smell of fresh leather, no taste of spices among his tongue. Zevran wondered if it leaving the forest for the city had been as strange for his mother as the reverse was for him now. 

Warden Elias Surana was leading once more, taking his time as they walked back to the Dalish camp. With the curse lifted, there was little lead to stay on guard, and Zevran watched as the mages hips swayed with every step. Was he enjoying this, the open air? Zevran had never asked if he was Dalish; perhaps this reminded him of a time before the circle. Or maybe it was a new sensation entirely. 

Zevran pushed the thought aside. He had better things to do than to think about his paramour's origins. Like to stare at his ass. 

“Zevran,” Wynne hissed from behind him, her voice low. Disapproving. Either of their relationship or Zevran’s inability to keep it to himself. Zevran made a point to stare harder. Wynne could scold all she wanted; he was not going to look away from such a stellar view.  

“You know,” Elias said, stopping in the middle of the path. His voice was lower than one would expect from a man his size, almost husky. His staff wobbled in it’s holder. “Legends said elves used to frolick in the forests.” 

Zevran tore his gaze away from Elias’ ass, focusing on his head instead. He was looking to the side, his brow creased with sweat, his lips pressed together in thought. Still the scholar, even in the forest. The man thought far too much for his own good. Zevran had been trying to remedy that, the Antivan arts had ways for distracting even the most studious, but he had yet to break the elf of the habit.

“You feel like frolicking?” Alistair asked, amusement in his voice. Elias looked off into the distance for a few more seconds, before his lips twitched up in the smallest of smiles. Zevran recognized it. Mischief. 

“Well I do now,” Elias turned on his heel and walked over to Alistair, bowing now as he held out his hand. It was a mockery of a proper bow, all awkward limbs, and the mage’s lack of experience was evident. He glanced up at Alistair, a smirk on his face. “What do you say, Alistair? Up for some frockling?”

Zevran couldn’t hide his chuckle as Alistair turned a deep red. The prince should have known better than to tease. 

“But, but….I’m covered in blood!”

He wasn’t wrong. The front of his armor was stained with it and part of the back too. Small specks of it covered his face as well. Elias rolled his eyes and jerked at the bottom of his robes. There was a hint of crimson on the edges.

“I’m not exactly clean myself.” He tilted his head. “Come’on, Alistair. There’s no one here to judge you. Except Wynne and she’s too sweet for that.”

 Oh, Zevran doubted that. He’d seen the twinkle in the woman’s eye on occasion; she had a mean streak somewhere in her old bones. Zevran had been trying to pry it out of her for almost a month. Alistair turned his head to Zevran.

“Zevran’s looking judgy.”

“It’s a default expression,” Elias said before Zevran could cut in. “He doesn’t know how to turn it off.” He waited another second before reaching out to grab Alistair’s hand. “Alright, that’s it, we’re frockling, embrace it.”

“Wait-Eli!” It was too late. The other Warden was in Elias’ trap. Zevran watched with poorly concealed amusement as the two swayed, jumped and attempted to dance around the clearing they were in. Both clearly had no dancing experience; Elias’ danced with out of control movements, while Alistair was as stiff as a board. When Elias went in for a dip, it sent Alistair right to the ground, the elf coming with him. They ended up in a tangle of limbs in the grass, snickering.

“I’m assuming they did not teach dancing in the Circle?” Zevran asked Wynne. The witch, covering her smile with her hand, nodded. Zevran walked over to the pair who were still laughing and looked down at them.

“You two have just disgraced a fine art.”

Elias’s grinned. It was a wonderful grin, one that reminded Zevran of the sun in Antiva. Warm, bright, and comforting. 

“Wouldn’t be the first art I disgraced.” Elias got to his feet and Alistair soon followed. The latter was still bright red, but it seemed his brief foray into frolicking had cheered his mood. He walked back over to where Wynne was standing. Elias, on the other hand, stood in his place. “Why? You think you can do better?”

Zevran knew a challenge when he saw one. He took a step forward, getting into the mage’s personal space. Elias didn’t waver, his smile growing wider and Zevran placed his hand on his shoulder, the other on his waist.

“Oh,” Zevran said, dipping the Warden slightly. “I know I can.”

 There was a wolf-whistle from behind them that could only be from Alistair. Zevran ignored him. Still in the dip, Elias’ grin grew even larger. Zevran would never tire of that grin, he decided in that moment. He could see it everyday for the rest of his life and it still wouldn’t be enough.

The dance they took up was simple. Easy enough for Elias to follow his lead. Zevran couldn’t quite remember when he learned it, a mix of his Crows training blending in with his early childhood, but the steps came back to him with ease. The swayed around the clearing, quick then fast. Around the time Zevran got around to deciding to end it, Elias decided to try to dip him in retaliation. Zevran let him do so, but applied his whole weight to Elias’ forearm, once again sending a new dancing pair into the grass.

Elias laughed and Zevran couldn’t help but join him. This dancing, it was so much better than the dancing he had done back home. There was no pressure in it. No ulterior motives. Just people who liked each other having fun. The last time he’d felt like this must have been ages. Not since-

His brain stopped at once. No. He couldn’t. Not again. Never again.

“Zevran?” Elias said, sitting up. He looked mildly concerned given how fast Zevran’s laugh cut off. “Is something wrong?”

Zevran was quick on the recovery. “Oh nothing. I have just bruised my spectacular behind, that is all.” 

Elias leaned in, licking his lips. “Wouldn’t want that-” 

Before either could go in for the kiss, Alistair was clearing his throat. For once, Zevran was thankful for the interruption. 

“I’m sorry to break up this romantic moment, but there’s only so much blatant flirting I can take in one day. Can you two save it for the camp? Where I don’t have to watch and reflect on my lonely existence?”

Zevran considered throwing a pick up line at him for that, but he found he didn’t have the heart for it. Instead he got to his feet, helping up Elias in turn. 

If his hand lingered in the mage’s for a moment, well, he put that thought aside for later. 

 


End file.
